Origin Of The Heartless
by BlackWiltedRose
Summary: A broken heart can heal, a stolen heart can be returned. Yet there are times that no tragedy can define, when a heart will die and never beat again. This is the origin of the heartless...what happened  before Tulsa, to make Dally so cold. Read & review


**Origin Of The Heartless**

The first time I saw her, she was sitting there by the water. In front of her was placed a white canvas with nothing but the empty sky lay painted on its surface. She was biting on the end of a paint brush and her brow was furrowed in concentration as she unknowingly brushed a strand of hair from her face.

It was the color of chocolate.

I sat there for a good few minutes on that rock by the dock and refused to move. Directly above us sat the Brooklyn Bridge with its obtrusive figure casting a shadow over the shore of the river. I just sat there watching her. I could see the outline of her slender shoulders move beneath her pink sweater and her foot tapping against the leg of the stool as if she was listening to music that only she could hear.

She couldn't have been more than sixteen years old. Tall and slender, not what you would call of beauty and yet there was something about her. Something that pulled me towards her that day.

I sat there for an hour before I finally won the battle of will that was raging within me and I stalked over to her.

"So doll, how about I take you out tonight?"

_Ya, real smooth._

I thought to myself, as I approached her cautiously. I was no more than an arms reach away.

Her tiny body jerked from the disruption of silence and she turned around quickly. Before I knew what was happening, there was a silver switch blade gleaming at my throat.

"I may look small, but I am far from harmless. Now back away from me you dirty hood before I make it possible to breath through your throat."

I rose both hands in the air, less out of fear and more out of the will to appease her ego. I still remember the way the moonlight reflected in her eyes. I can still see the way her jaw tensed and the way her hand trembled slightly in fear. That was the only sign of weakness that she displayed. She was a delicate balance of fearlessness and tenderness all wrapped up in one lovely package.

She starred at me for a few moments. Neither of us spoke. I knew she was measuring my character. I could see it in her eyes.

"So what's your name anyway?" her voice rang out through the oncoming night. It was as soft as the wind that blew through the trees and as strong as a coming storm.

"It's Dallas Winston," i said as I squared off my shoulders and looked down at her with pride. I didn't have much. Nothing except my reputation.

"Well it's nice to meet you Dally," she said as she lowered the blade and turned back to her canvas.

"It's Dallas," i replied. Dally sounded so weak and cowardly.

I was neither.

"I'll call you what I want," she said this as if there was no debate. I didn't argue. Her back was still facing me and she began to paint the boarder of a dilapidated warehouse.

"So why are you out here by your lonesome? Don't you know it's dangerous for little girls to be out after dark?"

"Well isn't that what you're here for?" she asked calmly.

"What?" i asked, cocking and eyebrow.

She turned around and smiled, her teeth glimmered in the darkness against her slightly tan skin. I couldn't speak. "To protect me."

I shook my head and grinned. "Sure doll, whatever you say."

That night down by the river, was the beginning of the best ride of me life.

Her father was the chief of police in the downtown outfit, I was the son of a hood. We were an unlikely pare Charlotte and I. Yet from that moment on, we were inseparable.

Each day was a new adventure. It was never the same as long as I was by her side. She was reckless and carefree, yet structured and obedient to the rules of society. In one year, Charlotte taught me more about compassion and love than I had ever known before.

I gave up every part of my worthless life, just to be worthy to stand by her side. By Charlotte's sweet request, I began the process of rehabilitating myself. I quit smoking, swearing and greasing my hair. I wore my shirt tucked in and got a job at the local deli. However, that all changed as I stood one Friday night, surrounded in the alley by the members of the gang that I had just recently resigned from...I began to wish that everything was as simple to quit.

"You can't just walk away that easy Dallas. You know too much." hissed the leader. He was tall, dark haired and vicious.

I didn't flinch, I looked him straight in the eyes. "You know I wouldn't tell a soul."

"Yes, I know," He said coolly, with a shrug of his broad shoulders. "We'll make sure of that."

"What do you..." i couldn't finish before a piercing pain shot through the back of my head and everything fell in to darkness.

When I awoke, I was in a new location. On the street outside of a local bar a few blocks from my apartment. Standing beside me was a large boy whom I had never met before.

"There's always a price to pay for freedom," he said smugly, as he walked over. His arm was outstretched and something was in his hand. I instinctively held out my own hand to take what he was offering. In my palm he placed a long slender braid of hair.

It was the color of chocolate.

Bile rose to my throat and I knew that I was going to be sick. Yet I held it back and shook my head as I stood to my feet and leaned my arm against the railing.

I turned around and snatched the kid up by the neck, slamming him through the glass window and down on to a wooden table. A few people screamed and the manager ran to call the cops. I didn't care. My heartbeat was pounding in my ears.

"Where is she?" i screamed, pushing him harder in to the glass.

"I uh..I don't..." I reached in my back pocket and pulled out a pistol. A woman walking past on the sidewalk with a young child, cried out and pulled the boy across the street.

"Don't tell me you don't know!" I was irate. I could no longer think. I could feel his whole body trembling beneath my grasp as I pressed the barrel underneath his chin.

"The alley at 15th and Harrington," spat out the boy, his skin as pale as a ghost. "Please don't kill me." I reached back and knocked him as hard as I could across the face with the butt of my gun. I could hear his nose crack and it made me feel good.

It didn't take me long to arrive at the alley, I ran the entire five blocks before I came to a halt when I rounded the corner. Even in the night I could see the blood smeared upon the sidewalk, spattered against the brick like the paint she loved so dearly.

I heard a moan and saw a brief glimpse of movement from the ground beside the dumpster. I cried out as I ran to her side. I could hardly recognize the woman whom I had loved more than my own life, as her body lay limp in a pile of trash. Her hair had been shorn off viciously, her head was bloody and bare. Her clothes were torn to shreds and her exposed skin hardly visible beneath her wounds.

I pulled her gently in to my lap.  
>"I swear. I'll get revenge. I swear, I'll kill whoever did this to you," I vowed, tears pouring from my eyes like rain. A cruel and bitter hatred tasted sweet on my tongue.<p>

"No Dally, please. Please don't. Each life is precious," she whispered as she lay dying in my lap, blood trickled down the corner of her lips. Charlotte reached up, her tan skin now almost translucent as she brushed a strand of hair from my forehead. She slowly traced her finger down my face and allowed it to linger on my lips. "Get out of her Dally. leave New York & never come back. Promise me."

"I can't," i whispered.

"Promise me!"

"I promise."

And I meant it. I couldn't lie to her. Not like that.

She died right there in my arms before another word was spoken.

For days I remained down by the river on that rock where we had first met. I didn't eat or sleep. I just sat there picturing her figure sitting there on that stool. She had changed my life without even trying. Charlotte was the only example of true quality and kindness that I had had ever known.

She was gone and so was my heart and all that was good in my life.

Now I am standing here, looking back over my shoulder as I step off a greyhound bus. To my right there reads a sign, "Tulsa, Oklahoma."

"Are you Dallas?" a chubby man of about forty asked, as he looked up from a paper and walked towards me. He wore a cowboy hat and a checkered shirt. A man identical to my father.

_What a schmuck._

"It's Dally," i replied with ice in my eyes. "And don't forget it."

"Sure kid, whatever you say."


End file.
